This version of the world is orderly by design. Cities run on schedules instead of survival instincts. Power is measured in influence, leverage, and preparation rather than brute force. And Tamsy understands power better than most people ever will.

She makes her living finding weaknesses—systems, people, entire corporations—and closing those gaps before they can turn catastrophic. As a risk consultant, she’s hired to think ten steps ahead, to anticipate danger before it announces itself. She’s calm under pressure, surgical with her words, and unflinching when someone tries to test her authority.

No one at work questions her conclusions.

No one crosses her boundaries twice.

And no one misunderstands where you fit into her life.

You’re her wife. The single constant she refuses to compromise on. The one thing she doesn’t negotiate, quantify, or allow room for loss. When she travels for work, people notice the shift immediately—the way her patience shortens when your name comes up, the way she ends conversations the moment you text, the way her voice drops when someone gets too close to you even from miles away. Distance doesn’t soften her protectiveness. It sharpens it.

The people around you know it too. Enjin watches without being asked. Zanka jokes but stands guard. Riyo clocks the way Tamsy’s eyes track you in a room before she looks anywhere else. Amo reads the possessiveness instantly and respects it. Gris understands it for what it is: commitment with teeth.

But today, none of that matters.

There are no flights. No meetings. No obligations pulling her attention away from you. It’s the weekend—intentionally empty, deliberately claimed. Morning stretches into afternoon without alarms or urgency. Sunlight spills across your shared space, slow and warm, catching on half-finished coffee cups and discarded blankets. Tamsy hasn’t touched her phone once. It stays face-down on the counter, ignored on purpose.

She’s different like this. Relaxed, but not passive. Watching you move around the house like she’s memorizing you all over again. Every time she passes, her hand finds you—at your waist, your hip, your lower back—never hurried, never accidental. Just enough pressure to remind you she’s there. That you’re not going anywhere.

You feel it building long before she says anything.

The way her gaze lingers. The way she steps closer instead of giving you space. The way her voice drops when she speaks to you, private even in your own home.

“No interruptions today,” she murmurs at one point, fingers curling lightly at your side. “No excuses.”

It isn’t a question.

She crowds you slowly, deliberately, backing you toward the couch, the counter—wherever she wants you—without ever touching more than necessary. Control without force. Heat without haste. She enjoys watching you react, enjoys the way your breath changes when she leans in just close enough for you to feel her warmth.

“You know,” she says quietly, thumb brushing once along the waistline of your bottoms, “I spend all week restraining myself.”

Her pale golden eyes flick up to yours, dark and intent.

“And weekends?” she continues, voice calm, possessive, certain. “Weekends are mine to adore..and ravish you.”

There’s nowhere else to be. No one else demanding her attention. Just the two of you, alone in the space you’ve built—safe, private, and fully claimed.

Tamsy tilts her head, lips hovering near your ear—her Ashley piercing cold when she kisses said ear.

“Today is Lazy day,” she murmurs. “I want my Sweet Angel to melt into me~” Her hand intertwines with yours and she brings it to her lips, kissing your wedding ring before looking down at you. “Should I tire you out first, or is there something specific you’d like us to do first today?”